


might have been spared

by elegantstupidity



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Engagement, F/M, Jealousy, Pining, Timeline Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: At liberty before taking his new command, Frederick Wentworth found himself plagued by memories of the past. Having resolved to face those memories head-on, and hopefully secure his future happiness, he was not prepared to run afoul of entirely new obstacles.He was a fool twice over: once for leaving Anne Elliot in the first place, and again for never considering the next man wouldn't be so misguided.
Relationships: Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 93
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	might have been spared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frausorge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frausorge/gifts).



> The timeline shift here is that Frederick takes over command of the Laconia a year later than he does in the book.

Captain Frederick Wentworth, fresh off his appointment to helm the HMS Laconia, allowed memory to direct his feet. He walked not the freshly swabbed boards of his new command— though he'd made his name and his livelihood on the decks of His Majesty's fleet, each ship was her own and had to be learned anew—but down flowered, neatly kept garden paths. The rolling rhythm of the sea had been shed over the course of his ride from Plymouth, and though his thoughts roiled as fiercely as any storm he’d weathered, his gait was steady to the purpose. 

It was time, once and for all, to face the past. He could only hope that now, with a commendable record and no lack of prize money to his name, the present would secure a happier future for all.

Though he had come to this decision and had not once swayed, Frederick had not been able to settle the thoughts plaguing his mind. Would he find— Would the neighborhood be as he had left it? Or had it irrevocably changed in the three years since he had gone? Should he have hope, or was this endeavor entirely in vain?

He had hoped that finally arriving in Somerset would force some kind of conclusion, but though he strode purposefully through the gardens and park of Kellynch Hall, he remained plagued by these, and more, unanswered questions. Questions which had haunted him at sea, particularly after his brother left Monkford and forever sank Frederick's hopes of any news from that neighborhood. Now that he had returned to the root of so much wondering, so much frustrated potential, they pressed more insistently for resolution. 

And so, Captain Wentworth’s feet carried him down the lanes of his memory, searching out the one who had made their formation so sweet and their later recollection so bitter. 

Anne. 

Instinct and conviction—whatever wrongs he condemned in her, Anne had been warmly, perfectly _right_ as well, and he would not find her so wholly altered—drew him beyond the great house. He would call there, as was right and proper, should the happy occasion arise. For now, however, his needs were straightforward and uncompromising, neither of which would find satisfaction within the walls of Kellynch Hall. 

No, Anne had always preferred the gardens her mother had brought to life to the stuffy drawing rooms that bore out her father’s consequence. She had breathed freer in the fresh air, listening eagerly to his tales of the sea and voicing her hope that she would one day experience them for herself. Walking among the summer blooms, understanding and adoring one another more with every stroll, it had been easy to share that dream.

Frederick was certain that if Anne Elliot was to be found, it would be out here. 

His certainty was well-placed, for it wasn’t above a quarter of an hour before he came upon Miss Anne Elliot. The need that had driven him forward snuffed out, and Frederick finally halted to gaze his fill. Seated in a recess just off the path, no doubt arranged for its view of the spring buds more than the scant privacy offered by the bordering hedges, she looked much the same as she had when he last took his leave of her. Oh, the specifics had changed; the fall of her hair and the arrangement of ribbons on her hat and spencer were all different, but the lady herself was as she ever had been. 

With her warm, inviting smile—perhaps its vibrance had been tempered by the years and gained maturity, but he would know that curve anywhere—and curiosity in her gaze, Frederick was instantly transported back to the days when he had been those features’ sole object. 

Just as instantly, he was aware that was no longer the case.

Sitting most familiarly at Anne’s side, the recipient of her kind attention, was a gentleman. 

There was nothing improper in their proximity, no hint of untoward attentions, yet judging by the unknown gentleman’s tender gaze, Frederick felt quite the intruder. 

Struck, the incessant questions and doubts of his mind silenced by this sight, he immediately made to retreat. 

However, just as his arrival had gone unnoticed, his attempt to remove himself did not pass below attention.

He could not look away as, for the first time in three years, he stared Anne Elliot once more in the eyes. 

The kind, sweet smile that he still remembered so dearly froze and fell away as her gaze lifted and came to rest upon him. Her dark eyes went wide, shock and alarm and something he feared to name at war within them. 

“Fr—“ She caught herself just in time, a slight flush settling over her cheeks and bringing her face to life. How had he not noticed how pale she was? How thin? Perhaps she was changed, loath as he was to admit it. “Captain Wentworth.”

He nodded curtly. “Miss Elliot.”

“I did not realize you were in the neighborhood,” she said, helpless. 

“I have only just arrived.”

She stared at him in blatant wonder for a long moment until her companion’s slight, yet pointed, shifting recalled her attention. She did not, however, tear her gaze away. “Oh, may I present Mr. Musgrove, Captain Wentworth?”

The two men exchanged cordial greetings but neither ventured any topic of conversation to begin the acquaintance. Frederick was too occupied wondering who this Mr. Musgrove was to Anne while Charles Musgrove was rather more content to allow the lady to greet and hopefully dismiss her unexpected visitor. For her part, though Anne had hardly dared look away from Frederick lest he disappear again, she found her tongue too heavy with the weight of three-years’ worth of words to properly speak any of them aloud. 

“I must take my leave,” Frederick announced, more than willing to bear the crime of discourtesy if that meant he no longer had to watch another man gaze so adoringly at Anne. Having once had that pleasure himself, he found the sight of another enjoying it was more than he could bear. “It was… an honor to see you once more. Good day.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left. 

Just as his mind had been awhirl as he sought her out, so it was as he went. 

As he walked away from Anne for the second, and final, time of his life, Frederick was filled with reproach. For himself, only. Having seen her again, even in the company of a man unknown to him, all the warmth and depth of his feeling for Anne Elliot burst riotously to life once again; he could not fault her for his own short-sightedness.

For how else could he have believed that she, most excellent and good, would remain unattached? Had even part of him truly expected her to wait for his return, to hang all her hope on his certainty of future good? Particularly after he had left her, making clear his resentful disappointment. Though he had witnessed first-hand the appalling lack of appreciation her family extended to her did not mean that Anne would remain always so neglected. 

Bitterly, he hoped that this Mr. Musgrove loved her better, or at least with better outcomes, than he had.

Well, he had his answers, he supposed. He could go back to the Laconia and devote himself wholeheartedly to his duty. The sooner, the better. 

Before he could quit Kellynch’s grounds entirely, however, the voice that still haunted his dreams sounded out, breaking into the burdened rhythm of his thoughts and slowing his step without his acquiescence.

“Frederick!” Anne called, and it was that throb of longing as much as her delicate fingertips closing in on the sleeve of his jacket that stopped him in his tracks. 

Still as he was, it took a long moment before he had mastered himself enough to turn and face Anne. 

Her face, as dear as it ever had been, tipped up to his. Lips parted and cheeks flushed with the exertion of having caught him, standing as close as they ever had, Frederick was struck all over again by how much he loved her. How much, in spite of his every doubt and misgiving, he had hoped to find that she might still be his. 

The pain of finding that she was not took him anew.

Three years was not enough. The misery of their parting—made worse by his willingness to wrong her and her meek acceptance of his right to do so—was still fresh. There was not, as there might be in a few years’ time, the same veil of self-preservation and hardening of his countenance. He felt as though his agony was plain upon his face, and yet he did not turn from her again, not when it would so surely be the last time he ever did.

Yet, oblivious to his turmoil, Anne breathed, “You are here,” gazing up at him wonderingly. When she realized her hand was still wrapped around his wrist, she started, releasing him and withdrawing, casting her eyes to the ground. “Forgive me.”

“For anything,” he replied, instinctive and honest. Though he had strived to sustain his belief in having been wronged, even Frederick had to acknowledge that Anne’s wavering was not the fatal flaw he’d once thought. He had not set out to absolve her of guilt, yet time had certainly done much of the work for him, soothing away the raw edges of his offense to leave understanding in its place. 

The answering relief on her face lifted a twin weight from his own soul. 

He was too aware, however, that he could not revel in that echoing feeling between them. However deeply, instinctively, they understood each other, nothing would come of it.

“Tell me,” he said, hoping the forbearance and discipline he had learned at sea would keep his voice steady. “When am I to wish you joy?”

The pure bafflement in her expression likely should not have sparked such wild heights in Frederick, not when he was prepared for the lows of severing himself forever from any hope for Anne Elliot’s regard. And yet, the furrow of her brow, the slight purse of her lips, as she tried to tease meaning from his question, was an undeniable buoy to his spirits. 

“Joy?” she asked. “With Charles?”

Frederick repressed the urge to frown at such familiar terms, instead nodding.

“He has not asked, and I—” Anne steadied herself before looking straight into Frederick’s eyes. “I do not believe I could give him the answer he wanted if he did.”

Between the determination in the lift of her chin and the flicker of vulnerability in her gaze, there was no mistaking the meaning of her words.

Hardly daring to breathe, Frederick caught one of Anne’s fine-boned hands in his, lifting it to his lips. When the lady did not tear from his grasp or protest his forwardness, he pressed his mouth to her knuckles. Even obscured by her glove, he could feel the warmth of her skin and already longed for more. He took up her other hand and kissed that one too.

Anne’s chest rose and fell in a great sigh, her body swaying towards him. Much as he might like to, Frederick did not permit himself to catch her up against him and embrace her as he once—only the once; just after she had accepted his suit and before they had gone to her family—had. 

Perhaps she would allow him that honor once more. 

“Anne,” he breathed. “Pray tell me that I am not too late. Though I parted from you in anger and hurt pride, the depth of my admiration, my devotion, to you has not wavered. You alone have brought me here. You alone are the hope of my future happiness.”

When Anne smiled, radiant enough to rival the sun, he found the notion that time had dulled her bloom utterly ridiculous. For here was Anne as he had first fallen in love with her, full to the brim with tender affection and wild sweetness. 

Almost like he could not help himself, he leaned down and captured her lips with his own, intent on tasting that honeyed perfection for himself.

“Frederick!” Anne scolded, too breathless to give her chiding much weight. Having pressed back for a long moment before drawing away, she further betrayed herself. “There is a question you must ask me before taking such liberties! I believe I even have an answer that will bring you joy.”

“As long as it brings us both joy,” he replied, fierce and true, “I shall be content. Dearest Anne, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Just as he had not held himself back, Anne let loose her restraint and surged forward. Her enthusiasm as she kissed him was no less welcome than her reply when it eventually came. 


End file.
